


all you want is to be buried there together

by OurEchoes



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon typical drug use, Drug Use, M/M, Violent Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-17
Updated: 2016-11-17
Packaged: 2018-08-31 13:45:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8580811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OurEchoes/pseuds/OurEchoes
Summary: "T?" he says quietly, suddenly glad he's used the nickname instead of 'Trevor', given that it could very well be anyone on the other end. "Are you there, bud?""I'm- I'm flying, M." Trevor whispers, his voice soft and distant.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Because apparently depressing shit with fix it fucking is my forte. 
> 
> (Title from the song "Epilogue" by the Antlers, which I listened to on repeat while writing this.)

**(2002)**

"Hey, T? I'm on the way back from checking on Mand and the kids. Just wondering if you wanted anything." Michael says into the empty silence of his phone. "God knows the snow's too high to make a second trip."

Michael watches a deer, it's antlers like brittle bone, bounce hurriedly past his car. The deer stops next to him as he drives off and Michael wonders if it's hurt because it seems awfully stupid to wait in the road, knowing full well that dim lights are hardly a quick enough warning right now.

The continued silence on the other end of the phone draws him back from his thoughts.

"T?" he says quietly, suddenly glad he's used the nickname instead of 'Trevor', given that it could very well be anyone on the other end. "Are you there, bud?"

"I'm- I'm flying, M." Trevor whispers, his voice soft and distant.

Michael feels every part of himself sink beneath the wheels of his car, his body left a bloodied mess a mile behind him, laying coldly beside the deer he saw. He speeds up and prays that the roads stay relatively ice free.

"T, what did you take?" his voice sounds shaky even to his own ears. "What the fuck did you take, Trevor?"

He hopes in vain for a reply but only receives the soft click and dull ring of a dial tone.

His hands come down, white knuckled and terrified, onto the steering wheel with a jolt.

" _Fuck_!"

The rest of the drive is close call after close call as Michael narrowly manages to not die on the frozen roads of whatever town it is they've decided to hit now. He can't seem to make his head shut up; a continued track of 'he's going to die, _he's going to fucking die_ ' and 'why didn't Brad stay in _the fucking hotel_  like he'd asked?'

He knows the answer to at least one of those thoughts, his mind supplies. Brad told him he couldn't, said he had to go see his Mom who'd been sick lately. Couldn't stand to stay in a muggy worn down room another night, either.

The fucking asshole. God, if only he'd have let Michael have this _one_  fucking trip, none of this would be a problem. The snow pours down around him and he begins to make out the hotel in the distance, cliche red vacancy sign flashing 'no' at him, like some sort of fucking warning from God.

It takes him a total of ten seconds to pull in and rush to the door, his shaking hands trying desperately to unlock it. He rams through as soon as it gives and searches wildly around his surroundings, the breath whipping out of him at what he sees.

He's so fucking pale, that's his first thought. For a Canadian, Trevor's always had a natural olive undertone that Michael's been slightly envious of, but right now he looks pale and green and every shade of fucking _wrong_. There's the shallow move of his ribs and Michael can see every one of them ripple from where he stands staring at the cold expanse of his back.

The cold drifts in more and startles him into action, slamming the door behind him and running to crouch down beside his friend.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck." he says, the words feeling more like a prayer than any Hail Mary he's ever forced out. "What the fuck did you _do_ , T?"

Trevor tilts his head very slightly towards Michael, his eyes glossed and empty. There's no fire there, no sharp edged flicker of rage buried beneath the embers, just soft browns and greens like bruises dancing lazily in his skull.

It's the most terrifying thing Michael thinks he's ever seen and a part of him wants to run, to find the fuck who replaced his partner and hit and scream until he returns with a bloody mouth and ripped apart fingers, until there's nothing left of the other guy.

"Hey, Mikey," his voice, barely a whisper, makes his shoulders shake with every pushing syllable. "Where'd- where'd you come from?"

"Trevor, please, talk to me, buddy." Michael grabs Trevor's face as gingerly but directly as he can. "What did you take?"

Trevor's lips turn up into the slightest smile Michael's ever seen on his face, the corners barely flicking up, and he looks somewhere far past him.

"H mostly."

Michael feels impossibly colder, like snowflakes have permanently found their place in his veins, like his bones are rigid ice.

When the fuck did Trevor start doing _opiates_?

"Listen, T, I'm going to call an ambulance, okay?" he says, reaching into his pocket. "I need you to stay awake, bud."

Trevor grabs at his wrist limply, his eyes wider and all the more unlike himself, filled with a pleading fear.

"Y-you can't, Mikey."

Michael can hear the unspoken worry: _"We're lying low, Michael. They'll figure us out. I'll fuck everything up."_

But Michael doesn't fucking _care_ , because he's about to lose one of the only people he thinks might give a shit about him and it'll be _all his fault_.

"Shh," he manages to push out before the operator on the other line answers with a calm determination. "My friend's fucking dying, I think he shot up. We're at the hotel on Wilmington, room 12. Hurry."

He hangs up, the phone dropping behind him before he can even register having said anything. Trevor's softly shaking his head, fear wracking his features. Michael keeps his hands on him; slow circles over the pulse in his right, cradling sweat drenched hair lightly in his left.

"They'll come, T. They're coming." he says, and there's an unmistakable crack in his voice despite his attempt to cover it.

Something wrecked and breathless rattles in Trevor's chest, the chuckle feeling too much like tires blowing out beneath him and he thinks of that deer, of his left behind body, and the snow that he can't seem to escape.

"It's snowing, Mikey." he says, as if that's a reasonable response, but fuck _maybe it is_  and Michael finds himself shaking too.

"You should be used to it, Trev." he says instead. Trevor's eyes find his and there's a softness there that turns something sour and aching deep inside him, makes every part of his body scream with pure fucking fear.

Trevor's hand finds Michael's, thin fingers grasping loosely around Michael's where they rest against his other wrist.

"I always hoped it'd be you, M." he says and Michael bites down on his tongue so hard that copper fills his mouth, fills every inch of him. "Needed it to be."

"You're not giving up, Trevor. Not fucking _now_." He tries to ignore the way his heart is thrumming so harshly that he can feel it's beat in his fucking toes, tries to ignore how he can barely feel Trevor's.

"It's okay, you know?" Trevor says, and he's not even shaking now, and _fuck_  that has to be worse doesn't it? "You're here. It's okay."

Michael stares down into Trevor's face, tries to memorize every scar and crooked line and burn it deep into the recesses of his mind. Tries to not forget the way Trevor looks more peaceful than he's ever seen him.

"I'm here." he repeats. "I'm here, T. Always."

Trevor smiles, lopsided and barely there, as his eyes look off again.

"I'm.. I'm sorry it had to be you, Mikey."

Michael is about to ask what he means when the pulse in his hand jumps and then stops. Michael doesn't breathe. He doesn't fucking breathe, because he _can't_ , and god where the fuck is that ambulance?

The door is opened behind him and he doesn't move until the emt's force him to let go, gripping his hands and gritting out their apologies, telling him he can follow them to the hospital but he has to _let go_.

Michael crawls back and distantly feels the ground shake beneath him, the echoes of a deer's dying breath.

-

"How longs he been here?" a voice, an impossibly small and graveled voice pushes out. Michael feels his face twist against the sound, the intonation feeling very much like a ghost.

"Since you got here." a woman's voice supplies. "So, three days."

"Right." says the ghost, and Michael remembers snow and bruises and antlers shining in headlights and startles awake, his breath coming in short bursts.

"Woah, there, sugar. Don't think my body's quite ready for fucking jump scares."

Michael turns to Trevor and feels everything he left on the road slot itself back in place, every bone bending back into its home, the blood returning to his veins.

"Fuck, _T_."

Trevor smiles, and there's a quiet fire in his eyes just like there's supposed to be, his skin shades of gold and pink ribbons, any trace of pale green blushed away. He's sitting up in a hospital bed, a tray set out in front of him with some nondescript meal set about it.

"You know, people really give hospital food a bad rep." he says, looking down at his food as he cuts up the steak on his plate. "But they haven't eaten fucking roadkill for dinner seven nights a week before, so."

"Trevor." Michael says, because apparently that's all he knows how to say now. Trevor glances around the room, likely dodging what Michael knows is probably the hardest he's ever stared at the man.

"Back from the dead, yep. That would be my name, Princess." He doesn't even look up, just digs into a piece of greyed steak and chews harshly. "Let's not.. make something of it."

Michael wants so badly to punch him in his stupid fucking face that he grips the chair arms just to keep himself from doing so.

"I watched you fucking _die_ , T."

Trevor, for what it's worth, has the sense to look guilty.

"I know."

And Michael wants to argue, wants to hit him and bloody him up for scaring him so badly, for making him watch his best friend fade into nothing. But the way Trevor's voice is so very quiet makes something deep inside of Michael ache again, so he stays where he's seated and waits for the silence to stop feeling so loud.

"After I eat," Trevor says once the nurse fully leaves the room. "What's say we blow this shit hole, huh?"

His eyes meet Michael's and Michael's never been more thankful for fire, for gold and red and brown.

"Abso- _fucking_ -lutely."

-

**(2013)**

There's a moment when, as a rain of bullets comes down on him, he thinks about how he'll probably die this way: searching for Trevor in abandoned warehouses, frantic and careless.

But then he peaks a glimpse of tattooed and deeply scarred hands from behind a wall of metal and suddenly it fucking hits him, like a train wreck. The force of it nearly knocking him down, but he's fucking Michael Townley or maybe Michael De Santa, and realizations about the past eleven years can't keep him from finishing things that need to be done.

So he pushes through wave after wave of armed gunmen and curses Trevor for scaring him more than he cares to admit.

-

It isn't until weeks later, after the news stories about a missing Devin Weston and a dead Steve Haines have died down, that he seeks him out.

He figures that three am on a Sunday is a typical meeting time for Trevor so he doesn't hesitate when he opens the trailer door, the lock turning easily.

He glances around and finds himself met with the cold expanse of back again and fuck, he can't do this, not _now_ -

"Didn't anyone teach you it's incredibly rude to just barge into someone's house, Mikey?"

Trevor doesn't turn around from where he lays on the sofa. Michael lets out a breath.

"Guess not." he says, voice sounding far more strained than he intended.

Trevor sits up, full on facing Michael now, his eyebrow arched with confusion and what Michael distantly recognizes as fear.

"I understand what you meant." he says. Trevor's face doesn't react, but his eyes spark in a way only Michael thinks he can see, a flicker of worry and hope that twists Michael from the inside out. "Back in 02'."

Trevor doesn't look away and Michael feels like it's a fight he hasn't even meant to start but can't give up now, so he stays locked onto his face and stays firm, not looking anywhere else. Maybe he can't.

"I know what you meant." His voice is wrecked and he hates it and he fucking _hates_ Trevor, and he fucking hates everything about this place, about this fucking _country_  maybe.

So he does the only thing he thinks he won't hate and steps forward quicker than Trevor can stand up and grabs the little bit of hair he has left and pulls Trevor's mouth onto his own, his teeth grazing Michael's lip almost painfully.

It's not much of a kiss so much as a fucking life raft, because Michael's drowning now, probably has been since he drove down that snow soaked road a decade ago, and all he can think is _it had to be Trevor_.

Trevor doesn't react much at first, his hands limp by his sides, but then Michael licks the seam of his lip and Trevor lets out a breath like he's been drowning, too, and grabs Michael's face with both hands, his thumbs running slow paths against his cheekbones.

Michael can barely breathe but he doesn't fucking care because he needs to feel this, needs to feel every swipe of tongue and scratch of teeth against him. He needs to remember that he's alive, that they're both alive. That maybe a younger version of both of them died a long time ago, but that they're still here in some way and they're breathing and hurting together.

It's the best rush Michael's felt since seeing those gold bricks fly off with the chopper.

Trevor pulls back and dips his head to bite at Michael's neck, his hands mapping seemingly every part of Michael as he moves them towards his bed. A voice that won't shut up whispers how disgusting fucking on Trevor's bed will be, but an even louder voice shouts a beds a fucking _bed_  and he needs Trevor _now_ , even if he pushed him towards the ground outside.

Both voices shut up, everything does, when Trevor begins to tweak and tease at a nipple, and _fuck_  since when did that become a fucking _on_  switch for him?

"Off." Trevor says, his voice dark and too far gone for Michael to even argue as he pulls the shirt over his head. Trevor's back on him immediately, sharp tongue circling that same nipple as his other hand runs down his side, gripping softly at the tender flesh of his waist.

Trevor can't seem to focus his attention on any one thing and Michael can't seem to stop making these disgustingly soft gasps at every turn of Trevor's hands, every swipe of his mouth across his chest.

He suddenly really needs Trevor's pants off. And his own, for that matter.

He reaches down and yanks open the top button, the zipper pressing achingly hard against his erection until he pulls it all the way down. Michael's chest takes a back seat as Trevor begins to pull Michael's boxers and pants down with shaking hands in one motion, his cock falling heavy against his stomach.

Trevor looks at him like he wants to devour him. A distant part of himself is wary that maybe he'll do just that, but the overwhelming majority is screaming _fuck_ as Trevor quickly arranges his mouth over Michael's dick and drops until his eyes are watering and his lips are nearly touching his balls.

"Fuck, T." he says, his hands grappling at hair on instinct. "Oh, _fuck_."

Trevor swallows and Michael thinks he might have just found the best way to shut up Trevor Philips in the history of the _universe_. He breathes heavily and watches as Trevor eagerly sucks down his length, Adam's apple bobbing in protest before he pulls his head back and circles his hand around the rest, pumping tightly.

Michael tries to even his breathing because Trevor won't fucking look away from him and those hazel fires are near black with want, his mouth needy and unrelenting, and he's going to fucking come like this if Trevor doesn't stop _right now_ so he pulls him off abruptly, earning surprised (disappointed?) eyes in return.

"Please, T." he says, because he can't get the words out but he _needs_ , he fucking _needs_  this.

Trevor knows, just like he always does, what Michael wants and reaches behind himself in his night stand for lube, running a decent amount down Michael's cock and then jerking his own pants off before kneeling on the edge of the bed, one hand behind him.

Michael is over come with the idea of how many times Trevor must have done this to himself, the practiced way he sets to work and then nudges Michael back against the headboard.

Michael lays back and Trevor moves over him, long quick limbs situating his ass over Michael's dick.

"Trev," he says, voice beyond fucking broken. " _Please_."

Trevor sinks down and Michael's so warm, so red hot that he can feel the snow melt finally, can feel the ice in his bones break free.

"Fuck," Trevor says, small breaths working out of his open mouth, his eyes shut tight. "Jesus, Mikey. Fuck, you feel so fucking _good_."

Michael tries incredibly hard to not move, tries to let Trevor adjust the speed of things for once in his goddamn life.

Trevor begins to drag himself up slowly, hands pressed firmly on either side of Michael's hips, and let's Michael slide back in quickly.

Just like with everything, both of their careful reserves break much quicker than they probably should, because Trevor repeats the move one more time before Michael growls because he can't fucking _take_ it anymore and surges up to meet Trevor's hips, a high gasp escaping Trevor's lips, his eyes opening like wild fire.

Michael would watch the entire bed catch if it meant making Trevor that quiet and breathless and _alive_  over and over again, so he does just so, his hips gaining speed against Trevor's own.

Trevor's cock jumps heady between them, the tip dark and wet with pre-cum, and Michael wishes they had done this when he was younger and more flexible because he wants nothing more than to have that in his mouth. He settles for gripping it and watching his hand run up and down, flicking slightly at the head.

Trevor's flushed from his shoulders to his thighs, his entire body working against Michael in a battle only they'll ever know exists. Michael feels like he can't let him win, abandoning his dick in favor of his hips and flipping them both over, a startled look soon replaced with closed eyes and slack features.

Michael slots their lips together again, barely even more than a shared breath and soft slide of lips in contrast to the increasing snap of his hips.

"Fuck, fuck - yes, right there M, fuck me, shit," Trevor rambles into his mouth, praises he knows he never deserved raining upon him as he grabs Michael's face again.

Michael thinks he's burning inside out and fuck, he can barely _breathe_  and it's so fucking good, all of it. He reaches a hand between them and twists his hand in rhythm with his stuttering hips and Trevor nearly screams when Michael hits him in the right spot, his hips relentless as soon as he finds it, and Trevor's coming.

"Mikey, fuck, _Michael_ , God I missed you so much, fuck I-I-I-" and Michael tries his best to carve the words _"I'm sorry"_  into Trevor's mouth so he'll never forget them, and then he's coming, too, and everything feels so much, too much, but it's perfect and disgusting and fast and _them_ and they're _alive_  and Michael thinks there's no snowy road they can't ruin together as he wrangles his way beside Trevor.

His heart is pounding and his body is finally aching in a way he's never been more grateful for and Trevor is laughing softly beside him.

Michael turns, the cold in him gone, and smiles.

"I know what you meant, T." he manages to say.

Trevor's eyes turn to him, fire dancing bright and vivid, the smile on his mouth wide and toothy and breathless.

"I know, M."

**Author's Note:**

> I have a bunch of ideas rolling around about these two. Took me just two weeks to beat the game and fall in love with the characters and this just kinda came naturally. Hopefully I'll write more for them, but I'm horrible at committing to things. Hope you enjoyed at least ❤️


End file.
